<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>en même temps by foggynite</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046404">en même temps</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynite/pseuds/foggynite'>foggynite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les rivières pourpres | The Crimson Rivers (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Post-Crimson Rivers, Post-Crimson Rivers 2, Referenced Drug Use, spoilers for movies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:14:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynite/pseuds/foggynite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Niemans brought this all on himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Max Kerkerian/Pierre Niemans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cracked Leather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written sometime between 2000 and 2005.  Set after the first Crimson Rivers.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stale cigarettes and cracked leather. Gun oil and mildew from too much moisture. The antiseptic smell of bandages and medical tape, too clean in the murky grime of a borrowed squad car.</p>
<p>Max inhaled deeply, ignoring the twinge in his abused back muscles, and wondered if his lungs would explode from too much pressure. He could just keep breathing, rolling these scents on his tongue in the hope that he might find the truth in them, and take in air until his chest collapsed, caved in like an over ripe cantaloupe. But truth is a relative term when you're hyped on codeine and Phenergan, waiting as your stomach debates on whether you'll throw up before you sleep, or pass out first, then drown in your own vomit.</p>
<p>The back seat of the car smelled like desperate sweat and the hollow prayers of a hundred perps. He hated it.</p>
<p>"So, we take you home, boss?"</p>
<p>Wise-ass officer, Dussard, was smirking into the backseat. The blonde glanced slyly at his partner, but Selier knew when to push and kept his eyes resolutely on the foggy road ahead.</p>
<p>"Oui. Home." </p>
<p>A snort. Self-deprecating and a bit morose in his drug-induced stupor. The country ghetto he currently resided in was no more home than the Parisien orphanages had been. There was no warmth, no life rattling in the empty rooms with ratty, second-hand furniture and broken dreams.</p>
<p>"Bet you'll get a big promotion with all the media coverage," Dussard continued his earlier obsessing with a wistful grin, ignoring Max's irritated eye roll.</p>
<p>"I'm telling you, ain't no good gonna come from that mess." Selier tweaked at his mustache contrarily and turned onto a rural road.</p>
<p>"But he busted open a century old scandal! Of course they're gonna reward him, otherwise they'll look like dicks," the shorter officer practically bounced in his seat, taking his partner's skepticism as a personal affront.</p>
<p>"It's only five decades old, if that, and those are some well-respected names they've been tossing around. Higher ups ain't gonna just sit back and let that slide."</p>
<p>"But-"</p>
<p>Tuning out the now familiar bickering of his subordinates, Max let his head loll to the side and shifted so that the door handle wasn't digging into his good shoulder so painfully. </p>
<p>Staring awkwardly at the driver's side mirror through streaked windows, he winced at his reflection. The old butterfly sutures had been replaced on his cheek, crawling across his skin like a translucent yellow insect, and were now accompanied by stiff white plaster on his hairline. His nose was swelling, purple and bloody, and his left eye was black with fierce red veins cracking across it.</p>
<p>He still had the stub of a joint in his pocket. The temptation to light up was overwhelming for a moment, and his hand was halfway worked into his pants' pocket before he stopped himself. Adding more drugs to his system wouldn't help the nausea.</p>
<p>"Here's your stop." Selier parked smoothly at the end of the development walkway. "Need any help, sir?"</p>
<p>"'M fine. Go on home, you're off-duty."</p>
<p>The men gave him parodies of a salute as he crawled slowly from the back seat, and wearily he made his way down the wet concrete walk as they drove off. An insuppressible groan escaped his lips as he fumbled one-handedly with his apartment keys and they clattered onto the mat at his feet. His stomach tumbled as he bent over gingerly, cursing twins, psychos, and mountain picks the entire way.</p>
<p>When he opened the door, a white envelope fluttered free. It had been wedged in the doorframe and by chance he managed to catch it before it followed his keys. He studied the bold handwriting with a frown as he stumbled inside.</p>
<p>No address, no return label, just Lt. Kerkerian.</p>
<p>Curious, he shrugged out of his ruined jacket with some difficulty and gripped the envelope in his teeth while he tore it open. The letter was written on stationary from the Guernon Police Station.</p>
<p>
  <i>Max-<br/>It has come to my attention that the Paris division of Violent Crimes has an open position. I have reviewed your file, and, with some additional training, I feel you are qualified for the position. In view of your conduct during recent events, I feel we both might benefit from the arrangement. Please consider my offer and respond promptly, so that we may begin the necessary formalities.</i>
</p>
<p>"Son of a bitch" was Max's disbelieving mutter as he reread the note. A cocky smile slowly broke across his battered face.</p>
<p>He and Niemans had parted ways the day before, as Max was carted off to the Guernon hospital for his dislocated shoulder and broken ribs. There had been a definite connection, he was sure, as they waited for the helicopter to return from transporting Fanny. </p>
<p>The stoic Parisien Commissaire had spoken to him as an equal, not like he was some rookie in the way. Maybe Max had reminded him of the old Legendary Niemans for a moment there, as Max refused to wait on the sidelines while the aging Commissaire slowly lost his objectivity.</p>
<p>For whatever reason, the bitter and jaded lieutenant had found himself actually working with a partner he respected for once, not like the ones his superiors usually assigned to keep him in line before they gave up on him entirely. Niemans was one of the most prominent inspectors in France, too.</p>
<p>Having just transferred to this shithole little town, he could think of no reason to stay. The offer to return to Paris was a bit daunting, though, but he was never one to run away from a challenge. Surely his childhood demons could be brushed aside, because honestly, the short time he worked with Pierre Niemans had made him feel simply. . . alive.</p>
<p>Piecing together clues and hunting for suspects, making sense out of something so horrendous, even serving justice, as corny as it sounded, those were the reasons he became a police officer. Living on the streets, then being processed by the system, had made him realize at an early age that there were no happy endings in this life. But maybe, he could help out where he could, and go home feeling like a worthwhile human being at the end of the day.</p>
<p>“I must be drugged,” he grumbled wryly to his deserted living room. “I’m using my job to vindicate my existence.”</p>
<p>With a sigh, he threw his jacket over a ratty armchair salvaged from being tossed out and trudged to his Spartan bedroom. The letter was clutched tightly in the swollen fingers of his left hand, tucked safely against his chest by the shoulder brace, and he mulled over his decision as he tried to take off his sneakers.</p>
<p>Niemans understood his methods, hell, he shared them even. Max wouldn’t be tossed out on his ear in any division run by the veteran detective. He might have to rein in some of his more questionable reactions, but it would be worth it to be back on real cases, not petty vandalisms and break-ins.</p>
<p>So, Paris it is, he decided as he shimmied out of his abused pants. </p>
<p>Niemans would probably have to pull a few strings to get him there, considering the rumors he had heard about the detective going up for a review over a beaten suspect. Maybe the fight would make it all the more worthwhile.</p>
<p>“Right.” With a derisive snort, he lay back on the bed and tried to finally relax.</p>
<p>There was a phone number scrawled under Niemans’ bold signature. Max would call in the morning, after he had slept a while.</p>
<p>If he could get any rest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Postscript</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No really, Niemans brought this on himself.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Set directly after Crimson Rivers 2, which I was somewhat disappointed in after rewatching the first movie so many times and buying the translated novelization. So yes. Fixing the lack of Max here....</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lightly jogging down the hospital stairwell, Reda smirked at the sounds of Niemans following more slowly, breathing heavy. Well, the man did have a hole in his shoulder...</p>
<p>Named his little yappy dog “Reda,” indeed.</p>
<p>“So,” he stopped to wait for the older man on the landing. “Where’re you off to now?”</p>
<p>Niemans didn’t respond until he was abreast of him. “Hotel. Paris. Home.”</p>
<p>Nodding, Reda followed behind him. His own energy was starting to flag; those amphetamines or whatever had worn off, and now he was operating mostly on leftover adrenaline. Just thinking about it made him want to lay down in the stairwell and not move for a century.</p>
<p>When they hit the lobby, Niemans kept walking straight out the door. Reda motioned for the uniformed officer that was driving them around to move out. Gingerly, both he and Niemans lowered themselves into the back of the unmarked car.</p>
<p>“Back to your hotel, Inspector?” The officer asked.</p>
<p>“Yes.” Niemans grunted, then added as an afterthought, “Please.”</p>
<p>“And you, Captain?”</p>
<p>“The station, Andre.”</p>
<p>Niemans stared at him. </p>
<p>Reda attempted to shrug. “My car’s there.”</p>
<p>The vehicle fell silent, save for the chirping of the police radio. All the excitement of the past few days was finally over, so now his face hurt like hell, his hand was stinging, his ribs and kidneys were a rainbow of colors no human body should ever be, and he felt like he could sleep for a week. But he’d gotten to work with Niemans, the hardest instructor he’d ever had, and he’d carried his own weight. The case was solved, he’d probably get a week off after this, and combat pay, too.</p>
<p>Niemans’ cellphone rang shrilly, and the bastard had the gall to chuckle when Reda jumped.</p>
<p>Checking the number displayed, Niemans sighed and answered. “Allo?”</p>
<p>Someone was yelling on the other end. A man, quite vehemently. Reda smirked and leaned his head back, resting his eyes.</p>
<p>“Max.” Niemans tried to interrupt the speaker. “Max. Calm down.”</p>
<p>The older man’s voice was annoyed, but not to the degree Reda would have expected. A higher up, maybe? Someone Niemans was on familiar terms with.</p>
<p>“I’m fine.” More yelling. “Shoulder, actually.”</p>
<p>The speaker quieted. Niemans sighed. “No, I’ve already been released. I’m on my way to the hotel... No, I’m not. They sent a car for us... Lorsque Reda. Captain... I trained him at the academy. You’d like him; he takes as many stupid risks as you.”</p>
<p>Reda arched an eyebrow and looked over at Niemans to find the man smirking back at him. Probably not a higher up. Although, knowing Niemans, it just might have been.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t the only one...” Reda muttered and closed his eyes again.</p>
<p>Niemans was silent as the speaker continued for a good five minutes, but tension was creeping into his body, Reda could feel it through the seat. He snuck a glance at the older man. Niemans was pinching the bridge of his nose and grinding his teeth, looking for all the world like his head was going to explode.</p>
<p>“I thought Legrere was handling that one?” He finally barked sharply. “Dammit, you’re on light duty for a reason, Max.”</p>
<p>More yelling through the line. A fellow officer, then. As far as Reda knew, Niemans didn’t work with a partner. Whoever it was must have known Niemans pretty well, since the older man actually started to relax again as the speaker continued, despite the shouting. Reda strained to make out the words but couldn’t.</p>
<p>They were almost to the hotel before Niemans spoke again.</p>
<p>“I’ll be home tomorrow. We’ll talk then.” He grunted, waiting for a reply before hanging up.</p>
<p>Reda would have laughed if it wasn’t so painful. Instead, he just smirked at his old instructor until the man growled at him.</p>
<p>“What?” Niemans demanded.</p>
<p>“Nothing, nothing. Just... You’ve got a Yorkie, you actually smiled once or twice back there, and you haven’t lost your temper yet.” The observations were accompanied with a cocky grin. “You’ve mellowed since the academy.”</p>
<p>Niemans gave a disgusted snort and turned to the window. “Not hardly.”</p>
<p>“No, really. A few years back you would have been punching things.”</p>
<p>After a moment, Niemans conceded, “True. But I’ve found it to be more satisfying when your target is within reach.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Taking a chance, Reda decided to fish for information. “And in this case, the target– Max?– Is your partner...?”</p>
<p>Niemans gave him a sidelong glance. “Something like that.”</p>
<p>“Thought you worked alone?”</p>
<p>“I usually do. For some reason, whenever I work with others, I end up nearly dead...”</p>
<p>“It’s your sparkling personality, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>Niemans grunted and fell silent again, staring out the window. Just starting to melt back into the seat, Reda was surprised when Niemans reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card.</p>
<p>“Here. My number in the city. Stop by if you’re ever in the area. You can meet the dog. And Max.” He paused as Reda accepted the card and muttered under his breath, “Although why I would willingly invite you two smart-asses to meet is beyond me.”</p>
<p>Smiling wearily, Reda put the card in his jacket. “I’ll have to take you up on that.”</p>
<p>They came to a stop in front of the hotel and Niemans slowly unfolded his tall frame out of the vehicle. A bellhop came around to get the door, but Niemans waved him off and ducked down to pin Reda with a glare.</p>
<p>“You look like shit, Captain. Go home.”</p>
<p>“Same to you, Inspector.”</p>
<p>They clasped hands and Niemans straightened with a grimace. After the door shut, Andre hesitantly spoke from the front seat.</p>
<p>“Perhaps, Captain, it would be simpler if I dropped you off at your home, since it’s closer than the station? We can have your car delivered to you tonight.”</p>
<p>At least someone had tact.</p>
<p>“Sounds like a plan to me. Thank you, Andre.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>